Transfer Flight
by Canadino
Summary: With airplanes comes a slew of emotions: hate, anger, frusteration, apathy, anticipation, excitement, sadness, renewal. Thankfully, included in that litany is love.


**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

Transfer Flight

Romano Vargas hated planes. Absolutely _despised_ them. Not only was it getting increasingly harder to board the damn thing, but the air was always stale – then reeked of body odor half way on the trip. The seats were uncomfortable, the seatbelts useless in turbulence, and the food was straight out of a horror sci-fi movie where food substances are extinct. Add on annoyingly perky (and unattractive) flight hostesses, tiny television screens that made you crane your neck so you could understand fifty percent of the movie (that usually sucked), and horror of horrors – _your seating partner(s)_.

There were numerous things that made Romano willing to shun these large, polluting air crafts, but he found himself sitting on one, waiting for takeoff and hoping for it to be fast and painless.

It can be said that there are only a few things Romano would risk his sanity for: family, self-preservation, and sex – either which were the reasons for his departure. Of all things, he was going through on this plane ride for work related reasons. A family needed his help in Italy and that was all he was willing to say. Work related, family related, it was basically the same in this situation. He had been fortunate to bag a double seated row, as there were no single seats (reason number forty-seven to get a private jet), and his seating partner had not shown up yet.

_Four hours, only two-hundred and forty minutes. You can do this. You've gone through more than this._

"Hi! This seat F27?" His pep talk had been interrupted. The interrupter should be ready to die. Opening his eyes into an emasculating-inducing glare, Romano turned toward the aisle. A rather tousled, slightly confused young man cocked his head and grinned amiably. He had probably been late; he was slightly out of breath and clutching at a pitiful carry-on.

"Look at the sign," Romano grumbled. The man glanced slightly at the nameplate over the aisle before grinning and sliding into the seat. _It's going to be a talker_, Romano realized as the man shoved his carry-on under his seat and turned to him with a wide smile. _And I forgot my headphones_.

"So! Italy, huh? I love the place! Why're you going?"

It was only polite to answer, and if one answered grudgingly, the other would probably read the situation and back off. "Work," Romano grounded out, using his best _leave me the fuck alone_ voice. Apparently, it was lost on the other man.

"Oh! That's too bad. But they have siestas at three, so I suppose it wouldn't be too bad. I love a good nap now and then! Y'know, where I grew up in Madrid, we had siestas too. I love places that are laidback, right?"

"Fine." He didn't mean _that's fine_ or _they're fine_; no – _fine, you've said what you want to say, so shut up now_.

"My name's Antonio. Antonio Carriedo. What's yours?"

"None of your business."

"That's a long name. How do you spell it? Is your last name 'Business' or 'Your Business'?"

"It's quite easy, actually. F-U-C-K space Y-O-U." Romano watched as Antonio spelled out the letters in the air before laughing.

"You're funny, None Of Your Business."

Romano had a nasty feeling that if he didn't clarify, this Antonio guy was _really_ going to call him None Of Your Business for the rest of the flight. If he had to hear that awful Spanish accent say those four words again, he could never say that phrase ever again without dying a little inside. "My name's Romano. Romano Vargas."

"So you _are_ Italian!" Before Antonio could go on whatever he wanted to say about Italians, the captain suddenly came on, sputtering something about flight procedures and Romano was relieved as Antonio fell silent so the flight attendants could show proper ways to fasten seatbelts and how to use the oxygen masks if oxygen levels fell below normal. He was a strange one, Romano noticed; Antonio read the safety pamphlets when directed, looked up when asked, and clapped when it was over.

Romano believed in a fair, just God, but the fair, just God had just seated a nutcase beside him.

Takeoff was fine; Romano was not one to be nauseous when the plane rose. The screen flickered on to start a showing of some chick flick when Antonio finally spoke up again. "So, Romano, are you seeing anyone?"

Romano, who had started reading the in-flight magazine in attempts to look too busy to be bothered, looked up at the tacky stripe design of the headrest in front of him. "If that was a pick-up line, it was a horrible one."

"No! That's not what I meant. It's just that you seem to be the type of person who would have a significant other. So how is she? A charming, lovely Italian woman?"

"I don't see how this is any of your business."

"Or perhaps you prefer a Spanish woman? Spanish women are great!" If this was an advertisement for types of women, Romano did not want to hear it. He didn't like commercials in the first place. "They're so nice and they're helpful and everything! Have you ever dated a Spanish woman, Romano? You should if you haven't."

"I'm single, thank you."

"Are you! Well, do you think I'm attractive?"

This had suddenly gotten ugly. Three and a half hours left. "What makes you think I'm interested in men?"

"Because you won't stop looking at me!" This wasn't true. There was nothing on Antonio was worth looking at him, from his stupid curly hair and his stupid eyes and his dumb grin. And if he so happened to bat for both teams, it didn't mean he was willing to hit a home run for this idiot.

"I'm not interested in a relationship right now."

"Oh, but that doesn't mean you're not interested in me, right?"

Romano flushed, and in an attempt to cover up the fact that he hadn't come up with an adequate comeback, he swatted the man with the magazine. Antonio laughed, before looking a bit sheepish. "Can be honest with you, Romano?"

"I don't see why you're going to stop in the future."

"I…this isn't supposed to be creepy, but when I run it over in my mind, it might seem a bit odd…but it isn't…but I saw you in the airport. And I…I really wanted to get to know you better."

"Alright, alright, wrap it up."

"My ticket is for Spain." Antonio bit his lip, almost shyly as Romano frowned. "I snuck on this plane with a family of seven. I know it's stupid of me and I'm going to regret it tomorrow – and I don't have any plans in Italy and I don't actually know what I'm going to do now – but…y'know. The things I do for love!"

He wasn't touched. He wasn't a romantic at heart that found this oddly _not_ creepy. He didn't think this guy _wasn't_ a complete loser. "You _are_ stupid," Romano said, turning back forward and opening the magazine. "You're a damn bastard and you're compulsive. You take too big of risks _and_ you're unattractive."

"Is…is that so?" Antonio didn't look offended.

"I don't give away things for free, so if you can talk your way into it, I guess I could pull some strings and set things up for you in Italy to get to Spain. Don't expect me to be generous, though."

"Really?" The grin was back. "Will I be able to see you in Italy?"

He didn't really know why his face was heating up and buried his face into the magazine. "Whatever," he mumbled, knowing it was stupid, juvenile answer, but Antonio seemed satisfied with this. This Antonio character was crazy, completely out of his mind as Romano glanced at him, but he'd been dealing with crazy things for a while and he knew the territory.

This _really_ was going to be a long ride.

Owari

Note: PLEASE DON'T KILL ME I KNOW THIS IS EPIC FAILURE. I read in an interview about this guy who said the most romantic thing he's done to get a girl is to get on a plane with her. So…this spawned. I KNOW THIS REJECTS ALL SORTS OF LOGIC (and the person who the seat originally belonged to, DON'T START). PLEASE DON'T HOLD IT AGAINST ME PLEASE.


End file.
